Reasons Why
by Cheryl W
Summary: Tag to Heart. Because the reason why matters. No slash


Reasons Why

Summary: Tag to Heart. Because the reason why matters. No slash.

Author's note: I apologize already for this fic. It's unbetead and most likely crap but I had to do some personal therapy after Heart and therefore this angsty/sappy stuff was born.

Some things that were broken did not mend; Dean Winchester knew that better than anyone. He was living proof, John Winchester had been living proof but he had vowed with his last breath that he would never let Sam be broken. But last night he had failed at that vow, stood there tears blearing his vision, tremors thrumming through his body, a howl of anguish ringing in his head, pain breaking the last intact portion of his heart as he watched Sam look despairingly to him, tears streaming down his face before striding forward to save Madison.

Flinching at the gunshot, Dean knew everything he had struggled to preserve he had tainted, not out of lack of love but abundance of it. He had let Sam take his gun, had allowed his baby brother to honor Madison's request, had stood there, rooted in place because Sam asked him to, his eyes pleading for Dean to not go away but not witness the atrocity he was about to do. And Dean had done it all because he loved Sam too much to do otherwise.

And now they sat in the Impala, two broken men, silent and distant and in agony that seemingly could not be soothed. Dean had not said the words to Sam that his father had spoken to him after his first "mercy" killing. _Good job, son_. _You did the right thing. _At his father's words,it had taken every ounce of willpower Dean had to not be ill, to not turn the gun upon himself, to not drop to his knees right there and sob as Sam had done last night. Hadn't done it because Dean had known it was not expected of him, would not have been tolerated, would not have kept Sammy safe or his family together. It would have solved nothing…just as his pleas to his father to not force him to pull that trigger, to not be the hand that delivered "mercy", had fallen on deaf ears and a hardened heart. Useless, pointless, pathetic. All of it.

But he could not let Sam drown like he had, wouldn't. So he gave Sam what he never had, warm, steadying hands wrapping around him, a strong chest to fall upon, a rumbling in his ears of "You're going to be alright, Sam. We'll get through this together." If it was not hope it was at least forgiveness, compassion, determination. He would not speak of duty, or retribution, or righting wrongs. Those things would mean nothing amid the guilty devastation. Sam had to hold onto Madison's plea, onto the trust in her eyes that both condemned him and saved him. No, Sam could only save himself by remembering that his actions had saved her in the only way he had.

Sitting side by side in the Impala, Dean found that he could not look at Sam, could not face the devastation that his brother was, could not face his own failure that was rotting his soul away. Saving Sam had never been black and white to him, not like it had been to their father, had always been about saving Sam's soul as well as his life. It was ironic that at the end, his father had come to see what could be lost, that it was Sam's soul that had always been in jeopardy, not to the threat of turning darkside but of shattering and being swept away by the gentlest of winds.

Turning the Impala off the road, Dean kept his eyes ahead, maneuvered the black car along the gravel pathway sedately. There was no hurry in his actions, haste was gone, outdone by the things time could not change. Bringing the car to a halt, he turned off the engine, felt his brother's eyes on him, knew the hollow look they would showcase, the barely tangible interest in life that would barely peek through the dark gaze.

"Come on, Sam," Dean gently said, but he still could not look to Sam, couldn't face the pain in his brother's eyes, couldn't offer what he knew Sam needed from him, not yet. Climbing from the car, his motions slow, deliberate, Dean lightly closed the door, began to walk forward, unknowing if Sam would follow him, if he would ever follow him again.

But the sound of the creak of the Impala's door sounded behind him, louder than the crunch of gravel under his feet. Then Sam's presence was suddenly there, at his side, as if Sam didn't want to walk without Dean at his side, couldn't bear to be alone with his own thoughts.

Squinting in the sun, Dean lazily walked forward, came to a slow stop, raised his hand up to lean against the fence that circled the little league baseball field, welcomed the sound of young excited voices, of the call of "Come on Johnny, Strike 'em out!" and "Hit a homer, Greg!", took in the sight of the pre-adolescent boys in their baseball uniforms sprawled around the baseball field, as intense as they knew how to be in their young, naïve lives.

Dean eyes shifted across the expansion of the park, to the father playing ball with a boy still too young to join the ranks assembled on the field, to the two teenage boys laughing as they wrestled on the ground, a football their prize, to two women jogging, to the couple strolling by, hand in hand pushing a baby carriage. He didn't expect his voice to be so rough when he spoke, so fragile, so vulnerable. "It has to be for something…" he swallowed, felt Sam tense at his side but he didn't face Sam, couldn't, could only watch those teenage boys, could only envy them their laughter. "What we do…it has to be for something. I…it wasn't enough for me….not like it was for Dad."

Dean could feel the tear slide free of his eye, made no move to check it, to hide the pain that this life wrought from Sam anymore, knowing it was in vain. "I …I loved mom, I did, Sam, but it just wasn't enough…revenge. It didn't…" Dean dropped his eyes, stared at his boots, watched as another tear fell unto the leather. "I can't be put back together Sam, I know that. And I…" here he looked up, met Sam's teary eyes, saw the blinding pain, the layer of bitter understanding that was there, hadn't been there before. "I never wanted you to be …broken," choking on the word, Dean shook his head, wiped absently at the tears and turned back to the game. Gripping unto the fence with both hands, he felt like the pliable metal was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

"I just…I've always needed it to be about more…I needed it to be about them." Dean nodded forward, toward the boys on the field, his eyes drifting to the people in the park. "I have to know what I'm saving, that there are people out there worth saving, worth Dad's life, my life, that someone's out there living the life I had a taste of and that they are _happy_. Have to feel like I'm part of that, part of allowing them that happiness, that blissful ignorance to the worst in this life. I have to believe that what I've sacrificed has some kind of meaning. And when I look at those kids, hear them laugh," nodding to the teenage boys whose wrestling match had intensifying though the football had rolled away, "I feel like …there is still something to fight for, that it hasn't all been a waste of time, that my soul hasn't been bartered away for nothing. And this," pointing to the walking couple, Dean, out of the corner of his eye, caught Sam looking away. "That's what Madison wanted to protect, what she wouldn't forfeit, not even for her own life. You said so yourself Sam, hope is the point, hope that there will be happiness and laughter and love maybe not today, maybe not even for yourself but for others, for tomorrow. Hope that when this life ends, there's the chance for a happy ending. That's what Madison gave her life for. And maybe it doesn't seem like enough…" looking back to the boys, Dean swallowed, "but for me, for what I've sacrificed, what I've lost, it's all I can cling to, their happiness, their hope, their future. My own….it was gone before I had it Sam, but for them, it's right there, you know, tangible, present, alive…like yours was at Stanford. It's what I want for them…what I wanted for you…not this, never this."

Sam's reply was a choked, "I know, Dean. I know. You would have…" and his voice shattered and Dean turned to see tears tracking down Sam's face, too reminiscent of the previous night.

"I would have, Sam," Dean swore his hand slipping to the base of Sam's bowed head. "But she wanted someone she trusted to save her, knew you would understand the reason it had to be done, would value her choice, would even be proud of her for making the sacrifice…even as it shredded you apart."

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Sam's shoulders shook as he leaned against the wire fence, tilted to the right until his shoulder rested upon his brother's shoulder. "I know…it's just….hard. I wanted to save her Dean, really save her."

Bending his head closer to Sam until he could catch Sam's eyes, Dean reassured, his voice gentle and convicted as it drifted into Sam's ear, "You did what she asked of you, Sam. Saved her in the only way you could. And I ….I guess she asked you to save her for the same reason you made me promise to save you." Sam's eyes raised to Dean's, their heads almost touching, their eyes too close to mask anything. Dean drew in a shaking breath, willing to strip his barriers away for Sam, to lessen Sam's despair, to save Sam today and the days to come. "It's not about losing, or even about winning. It's about love, preserving it, honoring it and saving it."

Sam breath caught and his hand reached up and snaked into Dean's shirt, anchoring his brother to him. "That's why you promised me, isn't it?"

"It's the only reason, Sam," Dean wheezed out, wondering how Sam couldn't know that already, couldn't read that in his eyes.

Turning fully to Dean, Sam slipped his hand free of Dean's shirt only to wrap it around his brother's shoulders and pull him into his arms. There was no hesitation, no denials to his actions only the sure feel of his brother's arms wrapping around him, holding him, ensuring him that he wasn't alone, that the pain could not blot out everything, that good still existed in the world, and sometimes came in the form of big brothers.

The End.

Thanks for reading and again, sorry that you had to get pooled into my personal therapy session.

Have a great day!  
Cheryl


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